


TIMESTAMP: While He Sleeps -- From Ch 10

by Naoe



Series: GRIMM Fates [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angel Wings, Cas remembers stuff, Cas thinking, Cas watching Dean sleep, GRIMM TV verse, Grimm Dean, Heaven, M/M, Stuff, The Garden, Timestamp, my keeper, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naoe/pseuds/Naoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Timestamp from Ch 10 where we get to hear what Cas was thinking that first night he held Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TIMESTAMP: While He Sleeps -- From Ch 10

**Author's Note:**

> Um, there's a lot of Cas-specific angel information in this one. You don't need to read it to understand My Keeper. It's just... insight.

> _Although sleep beckoned him, he found himself just staring at his angel. Cas’s tired face did little to make those blue eyes any less enchanting, and Dean found himself mesmerized by the captured summer skies in those eyes. Castiel took his hand in his and whispered, “Basherter… I will… keep you safe…”_
> 
> _Dean just smiled wearily, not caring that he didn't understand the endearment, and, comforted by the warmth of his angel’s wing, he fell into slumber. ~~ CH 10_

Angels do not generally have to sleep, but Castiel’s grace was so depleted after a year of being cooped up that he found himself having to rest. It was not as if his grace did not regenerate; it was more he had been essentially cut off from Heaven by the sigils and so he had been living on his stored grace the whole time. Low batteries, after all, were practically unheard of in angelic circles.

When Dean had fallen asleep wrapped in his wings, Castiel had felt himself lulled into a sense of contentment he had not felt since he was a fledgling. Dean’s deep breaths tickled over his feathers, and he occasionally nosed at them, all while making contented noises. He smelled like sunshine, leather, gun oil, and dust, and something potently just Dean that made Castiel sigh with happiness. Unable to control himself, he pulled Dean a bit closer, nuzzling at his hair and neck, his wings curling in to protect his precious cargo. As he rolled a bit closer, Dean’s sleepy hands reached out and grasped at Castiel, a small frown on Dean’s face as he missed his target. Castiel wanted to chuckle at the adorable glow of happiness that replaced the frown as he found Castiel’s chest and burrowed closer, his head tucked between Castiel’s neck and chin.

Laying with his beloved Basherter, Castiel wondered how much time they would have together. He could not stop himself from dropping kisses on Dean head, listening to the satisfaction in Dean’s released sleepy sighs.

He touched his grace like a sore tooth, probing at it warily, and finding it horrifyingly low. Uriel could not fix it, but returning to Heaven would have replenished his grace. Castiel did not want that. He would be caught, trapped, and forced to stay away from Dean. He shuddered at the thought and bit his lip. What should he do to protect his Basherter? What could he do?

When Castiel was in Heaven, he was still considered a fledgling. His grace was immature, and his control over it incomplete. He was, as humans would have said, an adolescent. But angels did not have words like that. He was a fledgling and then he was an adult. One day, he would just have all six wings and he would become a full-fledged seraph, another angel in a garrison made to look over humanity.

At least, that was what he _had thought_ he was destined for. He had sat properly amongst his nest mates and listened to Joshua tell them the tales of their origins, of Trees and Gardens, the beginning of light and time. How the sun was tamped with Lucifer’s feathers, and the moon was made of Michael’s long silver flight feathers. And for every angel, there burned a star, destined to guide their Father’s greatest creations, just as angels are meant to.

Pleasant bedtime tales for angels, he remembered, reaching out to Dean’s hand and slotting it together with his to feel connected. He lay there and waited for his Basherter to awake, playing with his memories of soft graces tucking them into sacred beds of ether and night. The newly born oceans offering white noise to the new fledglings so as to rest their graces, as the young had to recharge often. The warm feelings of wrapping around his somewhat older fledgling siblings: Balthazar, Anael, Abariel, Cheriour, and Israfel.

He dropped light kisses into Dean’s hair, a small sad smile emerging from him. Dean smiled in his sleep, his face so young, yet unblemished by the toils of humanity. His beloved would grow to be a strong and powerful Grimm, he knew. He was born to the job and responsibilities, and Castiel would be able to help him. He gave him purpose he did not have in Heaven.

In Heaven, each angel had a specific job given to them, whereas Castiel was given nothing for a long time. Everyone had already left the nest when he was gifted the fourth day of the week, and he had not been sure what he was supposed to do with it.

Regardless ~~of his (~~ ~~minuscule~~ ~~) doubts~~ , he had done his job diligently, aiding people of faith on that fourth day, and folks born on them, which, as it turned out, was more of a job than he had anticipated, since they tended to be quite clumsy.

But the reality for Castiel was that he _wanted more_. He had struggled with feelings of discontent that he could never show. He had watched his nestmates quietly form bonds with other angels at the their very young age, and, when he asked Joshua about it, Joshua had patted him on the head and said, "God has a plan for us all, little one. Maybe you haven't found yours yet?"

Castiel had tried to be patient, but then the Earth solidified and soon cheeky fish simply walked out of the waters, gasping and breathing air like it was their right. He had had a close call that day, slipping on a bit of mud and his embarrassment was unimaginable when his big brother caught him with firm fingers.

Michael had smiled, and then said, "Don't step on that fish, little brother. Big plans for that fish."

The next time he was permitted to go to earth, Anna was in charge of the garrison, watching over the upright monkeys who built cities to approach God. They had erected a tower made of dry dung and ego, and were shocked when it fell, tantruming like children deprived a sweet fruit and blaming God.

Uriel had snorted and said, "They won't last long, impudent little mud apes."

Castiel was not so sure, and when Lucifer was cast down for his pride and Gabriel ran away, he knew these "humans" would go farther and do more than any angel in Heaven or Hell.

Humans, after all, were given free will. Castiel wanted free will. He wanted to please Father, but he _wanted more_. He tried to wait, but he felt no pull towards other angels, and they left him alone for the most part. He had been the last angel created in The Garden and that had granted him some sort of honor since The Garden was now closed to everyone except Joshua by Michael’s orders.

He had been alone. In Heaven, he had always been alone. But not anymore. He brushed a trace of possessive grace over his Basherter, familiarizing himself with each atom of his body, brushing his soul. And, there! It flared up for him, tiny tendrils of Dean’s soul reaching back to him. He could search the earth and all of Heaven, and never find another human soul so bright!

He nestled in again, buried his nose in the warm light brown hair, scenting his Basherter delicately. As he lay there, he felt his grace slowly seep back in, the slowest trickling of Heaven’s power returning at what felt like the most unbearably slow pace. It was nearly human, how slowly the time seemed to pass.

He used the smallest wisps of it to soothe the static electricity Uriel had amped up in the the sheets, lowering it bit by bit so as not to drain himself too much. Honestly, his big brother could be so unkind sometimes.

Uriel’s warnings, however, echoed in his ears, and he had known Michael was going to be furious because he had kept an eye on Castiel whenever he could spare a moment. Castiel had gotten more of the archangel’s attention than he thought he warranted, compared to so many of his siblings. It was annoying and yet… he knew he had been blessed, since he had thousands upon thousands of siblings and Michael was keeping an eye on him.

It did _not_ make it feel any better.

Dean muttered something under his breath, and then lightly sneezed as one of the feathers tickled his nose.

Castiel sighed heavily and let his hand rub circles into his Basherter’s back from its position wrapped around him. He was suddenly besieged with fears like those that tried to consume him while trapped in the cage.

What if he had made a mistake? What if Dean rejected him? How could he go back to Heaven? Would he then be alone for eternity?

What was the point of being “special” if he had to be alone?

He realized he was thinking in circles, and he did not understand how humans endured it. All these small choices that affected them in the long term, and their "long term" was not even that long. He had more recently understood the concept of mortality, but it was not death that was frightening. It was the choices, the everyday choices. The tiny desires that led them down paths, so many of which led to an early death, each of those tiny connectors to the future that each human had no idea about, only by the grace of his Father and luck.

He had a definite destiny, he knew. He had been given a vessel made by earth from The Garden, and it was given life by His Father’s will. “Take care of this vessel,” Joshua had told him, patting his shoulder gently. “It will serve you well, and I suspect you will use it better than most.”

Of course, Castiel knew not every angel had a vessel from The Garden; most had to find an earthly vessel to contain them. Joshua told him that he was special, and not to worry about the differences.

As a good soldier, he did as he was told, and tried not to think on it.

But, now and again, it did prey on his mind. He could not help it as his nestmates mated and left him; they built their own nests of collected ether and fallen grace-laced feathers.

Even if he had rebelled and fallen to earth against Michael’s edicts. Even if his grace was so much weaker here than Heaven, made worse because he was still, technically, a _fledgling,_ even so, he did not regret it. Looking down at the freckled face of his beloved, he thought on the fact he was supposedly a “special” angel, because he had not thought on it much, why he was “special,” nor did they tell him much. There was just a word that traveled through angel radio as they had searched for him: nephilim.

He had heard the word before but did not think he was supposed to ask, when he overheard Michael and Joshua talking about it. In a moment of madness, he did try and question Gabriel about it once many, many millennia ago. Gabriel had patted him on the shoulder, similarly to Joshua, and said, “Not your pay grade, kiddo. It’s need to know, and, right now, you don’t need to know.”

He had taken it at face value at that point, the proper soldier, floating along with the rest of the angels, accepting his training and garrison duty under Anael, listening to Gabriel talk about humanity and how interesting they were compared to the rigid rules of Heaven under Michael’s thumb, because no one heard Father anymore.

No one had heard Him, not since the humans had learned how to sail across the vast expanses of water and make that land their own, whether or not the previous inhabitants minded.

His mind whirled, and Dean’s hand reached out and wrapped itself around his waist, smoothing circles into _his_ lower back. He heard Dean murmur, “Shh shh shh… it’s okay. I've got you. I've got you. Dun be scared no more.”

Castiel smiled at the unconscious desire of his Basherter to soothe him, and laid another set of soft kisses on his head, gaining him another sleepy smile.

He closed his eyes, weary of all his thoughts, of nephilim and The Garden. Those were issues of the past.

His future was here, wrapped in his arms.


End file.
